52 Letters
by chatte blanche
Summary: Post-EOE. AsukaxShinji. "I wrote you a year's worth of letters, one for every week of the year." Fluffy. One-shot. Read and review?


**Disclaimer**: Ha! If I owned Evangelion, it would be less conceptual and more "BAMBAM THANK YOU MA'AM!" as far as to what the hell the plot means/what's going on.

--

**52 Letters**

You'd think, that after six years, he'd have changed.

The redhead glanced at the black-haired boy – no, man – sitting beside her.

Six years, and still, as quiet as ever.  
Still with boyish features. (At this, she wondered, with an overwhelming feeling of jealousy, if the ladies flocked to him, trying to reclaim a youth that they had already lost. _Old hags_.)  
Though, she had to admit, albeit grudgingly, he'd grown taller. More muscular.

And _sans _stutter.

She'd heard from Misato that he'd finally made peace with his past, with the Third Impact, and, most importantly, with himself.

"… why did you come back?"

A simple question that annoyed her. _He should know._

Briefly, she considered her responses:  
_Does it matter?_ (Knowing that idiot, he would respond with a '_No, not really._' Not what she wanted to hear.)  
_Maybe I should leave, then_. (And he'd probably let her leave. Unintuitive bastard.)  
_I missed Misato._ (True, but she'd kept in contact with Misato throughout the past six years. And he knew. Though she had little qualms about lying, it somehow felt wrong to lie to him. Even if they were strangers.)

She finally settled on a suitable response. "I missed yo—your cooking. Not that's absolutely fantastic. Don't get the wrong idea, there. I've had better. But it's good."  
She leaned back, settled further in the bench. Wondered if he'd bring up the subject -- or would she have to?

A small smile formed on his face; she hadn't changed one bit. Always justifying a compliment with an insult.  
Though, he'd heard from Misato whenever he visited her (visit was a lovely euphemism for what he did – most of the time he was called over there to help her clean her filthy apartment and to hear her ramble on about mutual acquaintances) that Asuka, too, had moved on from her past. ('_She's healed. Learned to forgive, both others and herself; perhaps not forget,_' according to Misato.)  
No details on how, though. Perhaps she finally, to use a cliché term,_** found **_herself as she aged.

He didn't know. They were like strangers now.  
He wished that he'd had courage back then. But wishes were just wishes. Not reality.

"… how have you been?"

Just like Shinji to keep on talking about fluff. Never to the heart of the matter.  
But she wasn't like Shinji. She was smarter. Better. _**Bolder**_.

"Why didn't you write?" Asuka blurted out, all of a sudden. Here she was, twenty one, and still fixated on an event that happened… six years ago. Pathetic.

"Write?"

"Don't act like you don't know, you idiot!"

She had sent him letters. Innocuous letters.  
Letters asking him how Tokyo-3 was.  
If he had managed to screw anything up yet.  
If Misato still gorged on beer.  
If – and this was when she had gotten stupidly sentimental, she still berated herself over it – the nightmares had stopped. (Hers had lasted for a while. Not that he cared. Or knew.)  
And even more embarrassing, if he had found "anyone else to tolerate your inanity!" (Shinji was too dumb to read through the lines, right? _Right_?)  
52 letters, one for each week of the year, the first year.

And not one letter in response.

"52 letters the first year I left. Or did they all get lost in the mail?" Asuka abruptly turned to Shinji, glowering.

And he, he wanted to tell her. But how could he tell her that he couldn't find the courage to?  
His responses would've been:  
_Tokyo-3 is fine. It hasn't changed much since you left. (C'est la vie.)  
Thank you for your concern…? I haven't done much. I recently undercooked a pot of rice, though. I accidentally added too little water.  
Misato still drinks. I'm trying to get her to stop.  
The nightmares have not. Has it stopped raining above your pillow?  
_And, _no._ Along with, _Misato and I miss you. Come back. Home isn't the same without you._ (Perhaps not so much Misato as him. But she would've called him a pervert without the qualifier.)

Silence.  
Where was his courage?  
His hand crept to the bundle sitting beside him.  
He wished that he could answer her, tell her, show her.

Asuka had never felt more humiliated in her entire life. Shinji was ignoring her. Staying silent. And obviously, from the way his hand shifted, thinking about food.

Men were pigs.  
No, correction, _Shinji_ was a pig.

"What? What's that? Oh, bento boxes? Wrapped all nicely? That's what you're thinking about, _**food**_? Well, I don't want your –" At this she stood up, furious. "—stupid food!"

Her hand knocked the package to the floor; the contents spilled.  
On the sidewalk lay dozens of white envelopes with writing and stamps on them.  
All nicely sealed.  
All unopened.

Asuka grabbed one in her rage. "You were _**planning **_on returning them to me today?" He hadn't even bothered to _**read**_ them?

" You—you!"

Her free hand curled into a fist – she was going to smack that bastard, break his nose, his bones, rip out his beating _**heart**_; then, suddenly, without warning, she opened her palm, arched her arm back.

But the sound of a slap never came. Shinji had grabbed her wrist before she was able to slap him.

"I… it… It's not what you think!"

"Let _**go **_of me." Asuka hissed, and Shinji's grip grew tighter.

"They're not yours!"

"Oh, really?" Asuka brought the letter closer to her face, so that she could read it in the dimming sunlight. "Asuka Langley Soryu. 1345 Apt. 14—" Her eyes widened as she realized that her address was for the "To". Not "From".

At this, the redhead's anger evaporated, and she sank down onto the ground, tears – _No_, she reasoned, _I'm not crying, be brave Asuka!, it's just a summer rainstorm_ – streaming down her cheeks.

Shinji let go of her wrist, watched her helplessly. Why was she crying?  
She was smarter. Better. Braver. _**Bolder**_.  
Right?

"I… I tried to send them."  
Where was his courage?  
"But I… I… I… didn't…"

He sank down next to her.  
"I'm sorry."

"I wrote a year's worth of letters." Asuka choked out. "A year's worth. One for every week of the year. And you, you couldn't find time to mail just _**one**_ back to me?"

The redhead sniffled, roughly brushed away her tears.  
She was angry now. Again.

"I'm not even worth ten minutes of your time, Shinji?"  
_After all we've been through? More… more than that. Much more._  
"Not even worth a response?" Asuka laughed harshly. "I don't know why I came back. Here—" she began to pick up the envelopes, she wasn't going to read them – "take them back. Take them all back, I'm going back tonight, you thank Misato for me, you degenerate son of a —"

Her words were choked off by a kiss.  
A desperate, needy, searching, hungry kiss.

When it had ended (and Asuka was stunned now), Shinji finally spoke.

"I… didn't mail them because…" He blushed, but forced himself to continue "… I couldn't find the courage to. You're… worth more than ten minutes of my time. Worth—" He cringed inwardly, hoped that she wouldn't smack him, that he could live it down. "A lifetime."

Another sniffle. Two. Three.

Shinji was almost afraid that she was going to burst out laughing. '_What a dumb confession._'  
Or that she'd break one of his bones.

But she didn't. Instead, she leaned into him, grabbed his shirt collar, and laid her head against his shoulder, still sniffling.

"Damn right I am. Stupid… Shinji."

_**fin!**_

--

**AN**: OHHHBOY. That took… three hours.  
Anyways, I haven't seen Evangelion in… five years? Six? It seems ages ago. So forgive me for not keeping their personalities completely true to the original series. I took some creative liberties. I figure that they grew up a little along these six years, and finally dealt with their internal issues.  
Also, the plot eventually "evolved" as I was writing it. I didn't set out with an actual idea in mind. So I agree, the transitions from one POV to another could've been better. (Originally, this was going to be Asuka-centric. Obviously, it didn't turn out that way. Oh well.)  
The ending feels a bit rushed; I'm not satisfied with it, but eh. It's decent. Not **too** cheesalicious, either.  
Yes, I did base the plot, when I finally had an idea, on The Notebook. Love that movie!  
The rainstorm reference goes back to FMA, when Riza goes (paraphrasing here!) "Are you crying?" And Roy goes, "It's raining." Plus, we all know Asuka would never _**willingly**_ admit to crying.  
Anyway. This satisfies my cute love story hankering for a while.  
Thank you for reading!  
And if you do review, thank you again. I love hearing constructive crit, especially regarding style. (First Evangelion fic. Go figure.)

- Chatte Blanche


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